


Scriddler Medley

by whatsacleverusername



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Break Up, Emotional Baggage, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by Music, Jon actually emotes for once, M/M, Makeup, Near Death, Past Tense, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:48:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22975753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatsacleverusername/pseuds/whatsacleverusername
Summary: This was originally written two years ago for a song title writing challenge that I can't remember the name of. I've only fixed some spelling errors and such, everything else is exactly how it was before.
Relationships: Jonathan Crane & Thomas Elliot, Jonathan Crane/Edward Nygma
Comments: 3
Kudos: 25





	1. None But The Rain (Townes Van Zandt)

“Edward,” Jonathan said softly in a voice most unlike his own, rigid and cracked.

No reply from the man lying on the grand bed, not even the slightest stir. Was he even awake still?

“Edward, please,” he tried again, forcing himself towards the bed, to sit on the edge of the occupied side and not immediately break down.

Edward only rolled away from him, facing the wall. So he _was_ awake. Enough to still be mad at him, at least.

“I… I’m sorry,” he forced out, the words nearly dying in his throat. He could never apologize for shit. “I didn’t mean it.”

Another fight. Not a quarrel, not an argument, a _fight_. No physical violence, Lord knows Jonathan would be mortified if he ever hit Edward, but violent nonetheless. Things were thrown, words and- in Edward's case- objects alike. It had begun to weigh heavily on Jonathan. It always hurt before, but now it was becoming unbearable. He could suffer through his own pain in silence, he’s done so for the past three decades, but the breaking point was seeing how it effected Edward. He could tell it hurt him just as much, if not more. He couldn’t bare it anymore, hurting him that way.

Hesitantly reaching his hand out to gently touch Edward’s shoulder, Jonathan furthered, “Edward, please, I-”

A quick hand slapped Jonathan’s away, speaking volumes were Edward refused to. Definitely awake, just not talking to him. Fine. He deserved that. For all the names and tormenting, and everything he _didn’t_ do. It was all well deserved.

“I think…” he continued, placing his hand in his lap lamely. “I- I don’t know. Maybe we shouldn’t… _I_ shouldn’t have… I’m sorry. I never should’ve put you through this.”

“Are you trying to break up with me?” Edward snapped, suddenly rolling over to glare at him.

Jonathan flinched slightly at the sudden loud noise, more of a tensing of his shoulders than anything. Something Edward would know to be shame if the genius wasn’t livid, and rightly so.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Jonathan conceded, voice fading away to a wraith like whisper.

“Oh, no, you’re not going to call me an idiot and skip out on me,” Edward lashed.

“I can’t keep doing this,” Jonathan repeated, unable to formulate the proper words, barely choking syllables out to begin with.

“Jonathan,” Edward shouted, jumping up to grab Jonathan’s wrist as he moved for the door.

Wrenching his arm free, something flashed in Jonathan’s eyes akin to death before completely vanishing as his icy blues melt, turning quickly to the door again. He will not cry here, in front of Edward, after being shouted at and grabbed like a child. Some stubborn prideful part of him would never let him. But as he fled from the room, picking up the bag he’d stuffed his necessities into, he couldn’t keep his cheeks from growing wet. Hopefully Edward will understand this was for his sake, sitting there on the bed, glaring after Jonathan as he hurried to abandon yet another life. Jonathan could only hope.


	2. Blind Love (Tom Waits)

It’s been- Christ, it had already been two weeks. Three by that Tuesday. Jonathan sat on the back of the stone lion like some gaunt rider of doom, legs crossed and head in his hands. The rain, though not unpleasant, was far from comforting in this ordeal. The gentle drops only stung against the angry red mark where he was hit. Not by Edward, of course, he told himself, despite all the screaming. No, it was his own fault. Just like this whole ordeal. He deserved it. Removing his glasses with a sigh to wipe them against his drenched shirt in vain once more, Jonathan slid off the side of the great beast, retrieving his few possessions sheltered from the rain under its paw. Fitting that the only kindness shown to him since that day was by an inanimate object. Really brought things into perspective.

It started as just a normal argument, Jonathan couldn't even remember what it was about. He must have said something wrong, something more wrong than his usual insensitivities, as he distinctly remembers being called an “unapologetic hick bastard” promptly afterwards. He’d sworn he had kicked the drinking habit- perhaps that’s what it was about- and yet he drunkenly drove out the only person he ever _really_ let in so close. Or, rather, drove the genius to drive him out. He fought to remember what he had said as he entered the station, pulling the hood of his thin jacket over his head and stumbling inside. He looked at the people gathered there, people getting off the train, people getting on, swarms of them. That pesky lump in his throat returned as his eyes began to sting, Jonathan quickly rubbing them as he huddled against the wall on a bench. Was he really prepared for this? Should he go back, try to fix this mess yet again? No… No, that would be selfish, and unfair to Edward. Maybe if he leaves, he’ll be able to outrun this horrible feeling. It worked when he first arrived in Gotham. Sort of. Of course, it doesn’t really matter; at the rate he’s slipping back under the bottle, he’ll forget about everything in a month at the latest.

Steadying himself as he stood again, he clutched the ticket in his hand hidden within the jacket, marching towards the waiting train. He nearly lost it as he entered the swirling sea of people, countless bodies brushing up against him, but he held through. He has to get on that train. _He had to_. But as he reached the open doors like a gaping maw, ready to swallow him up and remove him from this city, he hesitated. He had to get on this train, but he couldn't. The feeling of panic only rose in his chest as he tried to force himself, using every amount of willpower to just move two more steps inside, but he just couldn't do it. Shaking as his instincts snagged the controls, he backed up, colliding with another person before turning around and pushing through the crowd. Somewhere between the turnstiles and the exit, he must have lost his ticket, fortunately that was the only casualty. Stepping outside again, he wandered down the street until he found a decently sheltered alley, slipping inside to rest against the wall. God only knows where he’ll go from here.

It wasn't until the rough jab in the ribs startled him awake did Jonathan register the officer talking to him.

“Can’t sleep here,” he said most courteously. “Private property. Get lost.”

Oh, if he only knew. Struggling to get up onto his stiff legs, Jonathan pushed past the officer, receiving an almost challenging “watch it, buddy” as he went. He hadn’t realized how dark it had gotten. Or how… _Quiet_ things were on his own. Sure, he’d gone off on his own jobs without company, but he’d had Edward to return to for so long now. Even whispering his name felt like a cardinal sin now, like every syllable was another nail in the coffin. Finding himself back at the lion again, he looked up at the regal statue with resigned sorrow. He resolved himself with a lurch, nearly toppling over as he curled up under the giant, clutching his small bag of belongings to his chest. He’ll hurt in the morning, but at least it’s warm. Er… Somewhat. And safer. Theoretically. Who’s going to clamber under a giant rock to mug a man with a plastic bag? Hopefully no one, but Jonathan wouldn't hold his breath. 

Closing his eyes again, he leaned against the stone, no longer able to keep the thoughts at bay. Where is he? Is he alright? Does he regret kicking him out? Not that he should, Jonathan had it coming for a long time. Pulling the jacket tighter around his body, he tried to picture Edward as if none of this had occurred. Happy, smiling, _beautiful_ Edward. Jonathan really is the worst thing that could have ever happened to him.


	3. I Still Miss Someone (Johnny Cash)

It’s cold. It's _very_ cold. Those were the first thoughts that came to Jonathan’s mind as he struggled to open his eyes. He was unable to make out anything, only odd shapes surrounded by an overwhelming pale white blob he assumed is the sky. In an act of defiance, Jonathan squeezed his eyes closed again, refusing to look at the blurry wasteland. That’s all the world is now anyways, empty and devoid of emotion. That’s how Jonathan _should_ be, but he isn’t. Why isn’t he? He’d been homeless before, and for longer, too. So why couldn't he seem to do anything? He could hardly even force himself to move for shelter when things were thrown at him by the heckling passersby, much less scavenge for food. He already lost most of his belongings, his jacket, his spare clothes, the little paper crane given to him dissolved in the rain weeks ago. Symbolism, he supposed. A sign. It’d be oddly comforting if he could bring himself to believe such superstitions. With an agonized groan, Jonathan pulled his knees up to his chest, curling up tighter under the awning of a dumpster’s open lid. It worked somewhat, stopping the rain from soaking him more than he already was. He tried to warm himself again, barely managing to rub his shoulders, the joints in his arms cracking as they move for the first time in who knows how long. With a deep sigh, he finally faltered in his resolve, falling back into unconsciousness.

He was woken up again by voices, uncomfortably _close_ voices. He managed to open his eyes again, noticing that everything had gone dark. He doubted he would even be able to see if he had his glasses with him. He wondered for a moment where they went, knowing he should probably move to avoid any more projectiles _or worse_ , but he just couldn't. His body was too heavy to carry itself. He nearly slipped away again until a bright beam of light hit his eyes and one isolated voice yelled something out over the downpour. Jonathan screwed his eyes shut, burying his face into his arm in an attempt to hide from the sudden brightness. Foolish. Animalistic. _Involuntary_. He heard the voice again, more distant this time, followed by something lightly touching his arm. He couldn't bring himself to open his eyes to look. If this was how he dies… The voice came yet again, much louder and the touch hardening around his arm as it’s shaken.

“Jonathan!” It took him a few times, but he managed to make out his name. “For god’s sake, Jon, wake up!”

He’s not asleep. Why are they telling him to wake up? Very confused, he cracked open an eye just enough to see a figure crouched down in front of him in the light. His reaction is delayed, sluggish, easily caught when it sends him falling to the side.

“Jon! Jon, it’s me, it's Eddie!” That’s where he recognized the face. And the voice, to a lesser extent. He still sounded so far away. 

Jonathan knew he’d done something wrong that would warrant Edward being mad at him, which explained why he’s shouting, but Jonathan couldn't place exactly what. Hell, he wasn’t sure why Edward was even _there_. He found himself leaning forward all of a sudden, hands catching him again. He heard his name a few more times, someone calling out to someone else about dying, footsteps, then… Nothing.

When Jonathan woke up again, he felt something soft surrounding him. He obviously wasn’t dead, as confusing as it seemed. He wasn't cold anymore, either. He felt almost… _Safe_. Until he takes a deep breath, a sharp pain shooting through his body. He evidently woke someone up, as he heard a voice and footsteps curiously headed _away_ from him. His eyes cracked open just in time to see a head and upper torso appear above him. He still couldn't see properly, but he could tell by touch that it must be Edward. _Edward_. Who he fought with weeks ago… Oh. Oh, that’s why he’d left. How could he forget that?

“Jonathan, can you even hear me?” The question broke through the cloud of haze surrounding Jonathan, grounding him as the situation hit him like a freight train. Or, rather, what had lead up to this situation.

Raising a hand towards Edward’s face, only making it a few inches off whatever he’s laying on, Jonathan attempted to force out something, but could only choke and sputter to let Edward know he heard him. That he’s sorry beyond words, that he never meant to call him such terrible things, that he would never willingly hurt him despite whatever bullshit he says, that he- Oh, great, he's crying now. He could feel the tears on his cheek, slowly rolling down the side of his head. Oddly enough, though, the sniffling wasn’t coming from him. He looked around again, fighting to focus on Edward, identifying the source of the crying. Even better, he made _Edward_ cry.

“Don’t ever do that again, you-” Edward struggled to find the words to properly convey his fear and fury. “Y-You-”

“I’m sorry,” Jonathan whispered weakly, almost too quiet to hear. “I’m sorry.”

Edward didn't reply for a moment, and Jonathan’s heart sank in his chest. Did he say it wrong? Did he not say the right thing? He couldn't handle going through this again.

“You almost died,” Edward said flatly, the rawness of his voice betraying the cool he tried to maintain.

Is that all? That happens all the time. Jonathan tried to inform Edward on this, but he only got out a few syllables and sounds.

“Elliot said you would’ve been as good as dead if you’d been out there just a few hours longer,” Edward continued. “He said you barely made it, you’re still in critical condition, if it wasn’t the hypothermia that got you the starvation would…” He sighed, looking at Jonathan in the eyes as he asked, “why would you do that? What made you think this was a good idea?”

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” Jonathan rasped, reaching for Edward again. If only he could get himself to move right.

“Well, I think it’s needless to say that your great plan backfired,” Edward bit out.

“I’m sorry,” Jonathan repeated, like an old broken record. He certainly felt like one.

“I…” Edward sighed, a shaky exhale rustling some of the hair on Jonathan’s head. “I know you are… Me too.” Finally taking Jonathan’s hand, he added, “part of it’s my fault. I… _Forget_ you aren’t exactly an open book when it comes to problems. That’s definitely on me.”

“Not your fault,” Jonathan argued, his self destructive sense of pride kicking in at the most inopportune time yet again. “Should be better… At talking.”

“And I need to get better at listening,” Edward countered. “This is both of our doing, dear, you can’t take all the blame.”

As Jonathan’s eyes began to close despite him fighting to keep arguing, Edward gently patted his shoulder, almost as if he’s afraid of shattering Jonathan with his touch. He got up carefully, a small chuckle escaping his lips when Jonathan’s hand tightened around his.

“I’m not leaving, just pulling a chair over,” Edward comforted.

Slipping his hand from Jonathan’s with some difficulty, he brought a metal folding chair over to the side of the bed, kissing Jonathan’s forehead as he pulled the blankets back up on him. He took Jonathan’s hand again, holding it gently but tight enough to let him know he’s still there.

Jonathan nearly fell back to sleep then and there, but stirred at the last moment, mumbling, “love you,”

Pressing another kiss against Jonathan’s knuckles, Edward whispered, “I love you, too, Jon.”


End file.
